You Don't Own Me
by Crystallinee
Summary: Harleen is placed as a handmaid in the Kerr household, in a future dystopian Gotham where she is one of the few fertile women left. A resistance and a forbidden attraction to her Commander, Joe Kerr, follows. The Handmaid's Tale crossover, Joker/Harleen AU. Sexual themes. Leto Joker.


**Joker/Harleen. The Handmaid's Tale AU crossover, based on the book and tv series. You probably need to have read a summary of it, in order to completely understand this world, but Joker/Harley shippers can enjoy it without having read/seen the other. Margot Robbie as Harleen Quinzel and Jared Leto as the Joker. Sexual themes. Enjoy!**

* * *

Maybe she was going insane, maybe this was all a twisted dream made out of boredom. Perhaps she was still at the break room in Arkham, dozing off over her coffee as her colleagues rambled on about some hopeless case.

The dress impaired all her movements, dragging behind her as she went, pooling like a stain of blood around her. She wondered why this dream wouldn't let her wear skirts and high heels. It sounded much more impressive when she walked down the halls at work, rather than this defeated way of moving, like an old woman.

Once upon a time, in that other realm, she had worn tights and black pumps, a revealing shirt underneath her doctor's coat. Now they called it unnecessary. Make up and nail polish were nothing but vanity. She had liked vanity, once upon a time. The white bonnet limited her view, only giving her glimpses of the world.

A part of her found it funny, how absurd the entire world had become. Her colleagues had been hanged, one by one. A pair of ovaries had saved her from hanging on the wall next to them, for the crime of playing mind doctor. Everything that happened since that day at work, where Dr. Arkham let her and her female colleagues go, had been strange enough to count as a dream, one of those your brain makes up out of nowhere. It wouldn't be the first time.

It happened so quickly. The day she was denied a withdrawal from the ATM and her account was frozen, it was too late.

Harleen Quinzel could play along, but everything pointed to this not being a dream. It was starting to get uncomfortable, like being in an amusement park, on a ride that was slowly going uphill, and wanting to get off, _please let me off this ride_ , all while the last curve was approaching.

When she was bored at the Red Center, she would scribble words into the walls of the bathroom stalls of the old high school they resided in. _Aunt Clamydia sux._ Pam would tell her to snap out of it, if she was caught writing she would be punished again. Harleen couldn't care less. She had been strapped down repeatedly, beaten until she couldn't walk, put into isolation until she ran into the wall, screaming incoherently too many times. It made no difference.

When Pam came to check on her later after they dumped her in the bed, she couldn't focus. She felt Pam stroking her tangled up hair wordlessly, and she was convinced it was a really twisted high. Some girls would leave small pieces of food from the dinner for her afterwards. A piece of apple, half a cookie. Pam would always bring her fruit.

It had seemed exciting, like a childish thrill, to fight back. Some of the other girls at the Center talked about the resistance. _Mayday_ it was called. Sounded fun, like _m'aidez_. Help me.

All that was before, before Pam was posted, and Diana who led the resistance was removed. All that existed was now.

Harleen entered through the iron gates and followed the pathway forward, ignoring the armed guards.

The house was a mansion, the kind she had dreamed of having before, to live the perfect American dream. The Kerr household was the nexus of her world, showing off the wealth and status of its Commander. As she followed the narrow pathway through the vibrant garden with its blossoming, well-tended flowers and marble fountain, she almost wanted to smile again of the ridiculousness of the situation, if not only for the armed guard watching her from behind.

Everything was neatly kept in this garden, not a strand of grass out of place. Like the house with its enormous, silent halls and rooms, filled with decorative sculptures and potted plants. Filling the silence in the absence of humans, filling the space with meaningless items.

This place reminded her of the gates of Arkham, only this time she was the prisoner being led inside after the daily walk.

The first day at the Red Center, Harleen had leaned back in her chair, loudly chewing bubble gum and staring at Aunt Lydia. She had smiled coldly at the presentation in front of her. _Alarmingly_ _sinking birth rates – such a horror!_ The show of attitude had earned her a brutal beating later, but unlike the other girls she didn't fight when they pulled her away. They had placed her in isolation for two days, only water to drink, to make her "think about her behavior."

Aunt Amanda was worse than Aunt Lydia. Before, when women were still allowed to work and earn income, she had been working for the government. June, one of the other girls, had inside sources. Aunt Amanda's interrogation methods left only pieces, breadcrumbs of people. For the breeding purpose, hands or feet or eyes were not really needed. Harleen had been lucky to keep all her limbs.

Harleen put on a well-practiced blank face as she stepped into the house through the back door. To the Marthas and the guards, she was just that. A blank face, marked with scars from the Red Center. Her white bonnet lowered enough so they couldn't catch a glimpse of her eyes, blonde hair tucked neatly behind it. The crimson dress covering her forms, telling the world what her purpose was.

The uniform always reminded her of her Arkham attire, when she was still a psychiatrist. She wondered what happened with Pam. Her fertility saved her from the gender betrayal she was charged with.

But to the Commander and his wife, Harleen was an intruder, a sheep in wolf's clothing. If only they knew.

x

Tonight was Ceremony night, hence the tension resting in the house. The irritation was visible in the Martha's movements when she prepared dinner, the wariness of the chauffeur, accompanied by the ice-cold movements of the Wife. The smoke from her cigarette drifted along the rooms, like a sickly fog.

Harleen had been avoiding Mrs. Kerr for the last few days. This was what the last two weeks had been leading up to, the very first Ceremony. The time she had spent in this household was just about waiting for this.

She felt her composure flutter. The previous night she had been turning and tossing in her bed, drowning in a cold sweat. She would receive the Commander for the first time, and she couldn't help but wonder what he'd be like.

Only brief glimpses of the Commander had been seen before. Harleen was not allowed to be alone with him or speak to him, but she had watched. Puzzling the pieces together in her spare time, figuring him out, giving him a psychological profile for fun. In this mad dream, Commander Joe Kerr was the most interesting being.

When he walked into a room, the Wife would tense up. His posture was always confident, taking determinant steps. There was something careless about it, like he was conquering every polished floorboard without being aware of it.

Mrs. Kerr always got nervous in his presence; her hands wouldn't be still in her lap, she smoothed the blue satin of her dress out. Harleen had noticed all this, without turning her head, letting her eyes move back and forth like a painting a scary movie.

She wouldn't say Mrs. Kerr was particularly pretty. Maybe that was why the Commander didn't sleep with her. An amusing thought to entertain herself with, but everyone knew why Harleen was here. The Wife was like desert land. Useless for hosting life.

Harleen walked to her room, ignoring the uptight presence in the house, to prepare for the procedure. She needed to be squeaky clean, fed and washed. She felt like an inmate at Arkham.

Her heart wouldn't be still, her hands breaking out in a sweat, as she hurriedly consumed the food that had been served for her, swallowing too quickly and burning her tongue.

She almost slipped when she entered the bath, letting out her hair. It felt different to feel the weight of it down her shoulders again. It felt sexual, like remains of a foreign time. The only time she would ever be allowed to feel such a thing. Intimacy was a word that no longer existed.

This was duty, to all of them. Duty of the barren wife, who doubtlessly prepared for tonight with the same nervousness as her, and frustration, which made Harleen smile in triumph. The wife could pretend she was in control all she wanted, but she was helpless in this situation.

This was the duty of the Commander, of everyone else. To produce children for a dying society, a dying country.

Harleen had been well familiar with freedom before. The sexual kind, advancing her in her classes, amusing her on Friday nights. A cigarette and a drink, clueless boyfriends, falling like dominoes. The personal kind, her expression of choice. Pam's freedom. Now freedom was replaced by duty.

x

The first part of the Ceremony was the boring kind. Harleen would never listen to the ramblings about the women, Rachel and Leah, being repeated like a broken record at the Red Center. _Give me children, or else I die!_  
She daydreamed, as she always did when the tale was told, vaguely registering the Commander's voice as he read from the Bible. It was smooth yet rough at the same time, pleasant to listen to as background chatter.

It was all too morbid to stand, the kind of dream that she needed to space out from. The Wife's tense position on the chair next to the Commander, the smoke of her cigarette enveloping her, her teary eyes and silent shaking as she tried to suppress her emotions. Harleen wished she could wrap her hands around her neck and choke her sobs out.

These two weeks had been testing her – a stray scissor or garden shears, how quickly could she press them into the Wife's throat?

The Commander was bored, not hiding his disinterest in the tale, but reading nevertheless, as the law was. Harleen was kneeling on the floor in front of them, trying to keep her face blank, and not laugh at this absurd roleplay taking place with her in the starring role.

The couple was sitting on their chairs, like thrones. Behind Harleen, the chauffeur and the Martha had taken their usual standing places, gazes lowered to the floor.

Harleen glanced at the grandfather clock of ebony, ticking away, the silver ash tray in front of Mrs. Kerr. The urge to steal something had grown worse lately. She wanted to steal something that belonged to the Wife, or a machine gun from the guards outside the house, in the store, on the street. If only she had a machine gun, then this charade would come to an end.

She saw the expensive silk fabric of the Commander's pant leg, the shiny black shoe, pretended he was close enough to feel the smell of him. Her insides clenched at the thought. She couldn't remember the last time she had been with a man, it must have been years ago, and he was right in front of her.

Maybe this was easier because she had not left much behind. Pam had lost everything; her rage was overflowing every day and night at the Center. Harleen played along with whatever game was currently being played.

 _"Once this shit is over, I'm out of here,"_ she told Pam once.

 _"You're crazy,"_ Pam had said, green eyes blazing. _"Don't get yourself killed doing something stupid."_

Nighttime was the only time her red hair was allowed to be seen, released from its bun, flowing over her shoulders like some kind of exotic flower. It reminded Harleen of how it used to be, the lazy mornings in her apartment, dolling themselves up before a night out. She had grabbed her best friend's hands tightly.

 _"_ _I'm gonna get out of here, Red. Just you wait."_

One day Pam had disappeared. Posted in a household, they were told. Blessed be the fruit. To the world, she did no longer exist. Once they received a Commander, their identities were gone.

During the first night at the Center, they had all held hands with each other, sharing their names like a whisper in the wind, uttering them for the last time. Letting them spread and dissolve in the air. Pamela, June, Selina, Diana, Harleen.

The closing of the bible, a small puff of air, drew Harleen's focus back to the man in front of her. The Wife's sobs had died down a little. It was drawing closer.

The Commander stood up and left the room. Harleen was left in silence with Mrs. Kerr, who took one single, shaky breath. The Martha and the chauffeur left, scattering quickly.

"Ofjoe." The Wife uttered the name with disgust, as if she was speaking of something nauseating. "Hurry up."

With that said, she left the room, cold like a shadow. Harleen followed behind her. She pretended she was a flower, like one of the thousands that once blossomed in Pam's garden. She almost laughed at the thought.

x

The Ceremony was not about lust, passion or desire, one of those things Harleen used to read about in her harlequin novels. _Why so damn serious?_ she wondered in her head, trying to keep a wry smile from showing. _I always liked a little fun in bed. This sucks.  
_

If Pam was here, she would have smacked her in the head for that comment. If Pam was here, and she wasn't, things would have been bearable.

The truth of the matter was that she was here to be bred, nothing more and nothing less.

She was lying between the Wife's spread legs on the bed, with her head placed on top of her belly, arms held in the air. The Wife was fully clothed, of course, blue dress like a waterfall around her.

To distract herself from the hands holding her wrists in a vice grip, Harleen thought of the grand escape she would enact once she found Pam again. Lie back and think of England – fuck that! _Vive la revolution, bitch._ A snicker almost made its way past her lips. Mrs. Kerr's nails burrowed into her wrists.

The heavy door slid open as the Commander entered the room. Harleen swallowed, feeling the Wife's body tense up underneath her.

The Commander, the ruler of this household, the one they both existed for.

Greedily her eyes searched his form, gulping in every detail like a woman thirsting for water. He was wearing his black suit, marking his status. He had a refined, slim body with defined muscles. His face was shadowed until he stepped forward. She was not supposed to look at him, yet she could not resist.

He unbuckled his belt with steady hands. The grip around her wrists tightened.

x

x

Harleen tries to breathe calmly, spreading her legs just a little bit further on the mattress. _Come on, do it already!_

He is fully dressed, as he leans over her, one of his hands gripping the bed post. She is clothed as well, save for the bottom part of her body, red dress pulled up and ugly grandmother underwear pulled down.

It's supposed to be loveless, cold, and technical. He pulls his pants down a little, and inspects her bared pelvis. Harleen feels herself heating up, going insane with the wait.

He thrusts into her without warning. She rocks backwards, into the soft body of the Wife. She is irrelevant, fading into the background with the rest of the furniture, the king-sized bed. The man in front of her is all she sees.

Harleen is spread out, currently the center of the universe, as he fucks her. It's all according to protocol, only their lower bodies making contact. His hips slapping into her pelvis and she closes her eyes, just focusing on the sensation.

He is big, splitting her open, she can't remember if she's ever been with someone like that. It's not painful, only mildly uncomfortable. His thrusting is awakening forgotten sensations inside of her, that are forbidden by law since long time, but they can't control her nerve endings too.

The Commander makes a low groan as he moves, completely focused on the sensation she gives him, rather than her. The Wife is breathing as if she's the one being pounded into the mattress. Harleen swallows a sarcastic comment and focuses on the feeling between her warmth, heaviness of his body, and she needs to hear his voice again.

If she pretends, the Commander is gripping her wrists instead of the bedpost, thrusting his entire body into her, letting her feel him skin on skin. The fire burns hot between her hips and she clenches around him. He suppresses a low gasp.

But she should not forget. They're here because of her womb, that greedy pear-shaped muscle. Maybe she should hate this man for doing this to her, but she can't, feeling her body respond to his. She chose this, after all.

Harleen takes a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. It's the first time he looks at her.

Steel blue eyes stares right at her, he meets her gaze. Something flutters in his face, a reaction. Small, hardly visible, but her trained eyes catches it.

Dark brown hair, properly smoothed back, gleams in the dull light. His jaw bone is clearly marked, clean shaven. She catches a tattoo on his neck, small, but visible. She wishes she could see the rest of his body instead of the stupid uniform. She stares back at him, forgetting her training, wanting to arch her body and rock back into him. Wishes she could touch his inviting, smooth hair.

She clenches again and he groans quietly. She knows he's reached his limit, he's there. He comes inside her and the movements slow down. She suppresses her own pleasure, feeling him soften.

He withdraws and she gets one last glimpse of his eyes, strangely clear, and she wants to reach into him and figure him out, feeling hollow inside. He is _looking_ at her, not like the two legged womb she is supposed to be. He is looking at her like she is the only one in the room, like the Wife isn't there right behind her. Those eyes seem to pierce right through her for a moment.

Then it's over. He zips up, buckles his belt and leaves the room, ignoring the Wife.

"Get out." Mrs. Kerr sounds amusingly shaky, maybe she is having another sob tea party.

Harleen goes back to her room as if in a haze, trying not to trip over her dress. Once back in her quarters, she feels his cum start leaking out of her, running down her legs. She should lie down, put herself in elevation for at least ten minutes, to increase the chances, but she doesn't feel like it.

Something is working its way up through her throat. She puts a hand in front of her mouth to stifle the giggles that are spreading through her, filling her with pure adrenaline. She can't stop laughing, and this feels like high.

He is no longer the Commander. He is just Joe Kerr. And they both have broken the law tonight.

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 **A/N: Hated it? Loved it? Let me know!**


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